Last Run

Went on a visa run to Burma on Monday, my last for the foreseeable future. Bought a ticket for a "big bus" and so was a bit perturbed when a minivan picked me up that morning. I can understand that ridership is down during the low season, but took exception to the bait-and-switch. Upon our return, I rode through a steady drizzle to catch the agent who sold me the ticket before she closed for the evening. I seem to be the lone voice in a wilderness of consumer apathy, but someone has to stand up for the rights of tourists here. The travelers I see fall into two categories: 1) people who happily allow themselves to get ripped off and 2) people who react violently to, say, being served lukewarm rice*. I prefer to argue my case logically so as to reach a level of understanding that’s beneficial for all parties. Then, and only then, do I react violently and/or surrender my money like a sap. The agent hemmed and hawed but finally agreed to do the right thing and refunded the price difference.

The seasonal downturn in the number of tourists was reflected in the asking prices of imitation Viagra, Burmese booze, and (probably counterfeit) cigarettes. A package of four India-manufactured “Kamagra” tablets that would have cost me $7.50 two months ago was offered this time for $2. I changed the subject by asking about the 2004 Tsunami. Having gone on a visa run just weeks afterwards, I knew the damage this far north had been minimal but wanted to hear an eyewitness account. One of the kids hustling me pointed to the 10-foot seawall that fronts the small Burmese city of Kawthuang and said, "Boom!" while motioning with his hands to suggest the water struck the wall like a storm surge, rose, and fell back just as quickly. The channel between Thailand and Burma certainly would not have been a fun place to be that day, but the innumerable small islands that dot the Andaman Sea would have lessened the blow considerably.

Our return to Thailand featured a new twist: the ferry stopped at a floating platform set just offshore from a tiny island by the mouth of Ranong’s harbor. Atop the platform were three Thai border guards, a desk, a dog, and a plastic awning. One of the guards jumped into our boat, a narrow longtail (so narrow, in fact, that the chubby guard could barely make his way down the center aisle), for a quick inspection. A newly enforced regulation limits border-hoppers to one carton of cigarettes and/or one bottle of alcohol. The woman seated next to me, a Vietnamese national, jammed one of her two cartons of cigs under my arm just seconds before the guard checked us out.

BTW, the rainy season seems to have truly begun. Monday’s storms were heavy and knocked out power that evening in several sections of Patong and Phuket Town that I happened to pass through. As a result, most of the noodle huts and carts that set up along roadsides were offering dinner by candlelight. Tuesday was better, but I was not able to leave my room until late afternoon. There has been no letup today, and as of 4:53pm, it’s looking like I’m going to be stuck here the rest of the day. I’ve already had cereal for breakfast and lunch. I can’t even make pasta as the rain is coming in at an angle and keeps extinguishing the gas burner on my patio. Strong winds battered my golf umbrella to pieces the last time I played, but I might have to salvage it if I’m going to eat a hot meal tonight.

*Witnessed.